


demons don't need sleep

by RainingPrince



Series: Theoretically Canon-Compliant but largely unrelated Good Omens shorts [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Anxiety Attacks, Insomnia, Light Angst, Mentions of canon events, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Plot/Plotless, No Sex, Prompt Fill, Sharing a Bed, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), a moth dies, ocean imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22358491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince
Summary: Prompt Fill:Shadows danced in the corner of Crowley's eyes as he sat, the incessant noise of the practically archaic lamps buzzing in his ears. He rubbed his left eye and tried to ground himself in the present: gritted teeth, a shaking leg, Aziraphale's laughter. And yet, that buzzing, that irritating fucking buzzing just--Crowley inhaled, exhaled.I just want to sleep, he thinks.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Theoretically Canon-Compliant but largely unrelated Good Omens shorts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594831
Comments: 18
Kudos: 89
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens, Work from the M25 Discord members





	demons don't need sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My_Soul_and_Perfume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Soul_and_Perfume/gifts).



_Late July, 2020_

Shadows danced in the corner of Crowley's eyes as he sat, the incessant noise of the practically archaic lamps buzzing in his ears. He rubbed his left eye and tried to ground himself in the present: gritted teeth, a shaking leg, Aziraphale's laughter. And yet, that buzzing, that irritating fucking buzzing just--

Crowley inhaled, exhaled. 

_I just want to sleep_ , he thinks.

“Are you alright?”

Crowley jumps, the unexpected question startling him out of his reverie. He looks up to find curious stormy eyes surveying him with open worry, and his heart clenches just a little as he realizes he hadn’t a clue what the last thing either of them had said was. Had he missed something? “Yeah, sorry. Just a little distracted, is all.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, and had Crowley been any less tired he wouldn’t have been able to look away. As it stood, he could hardly keep his eyes open long enough to notice. “Crowley, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, angel. I promise.” The response was automatic, falling from his lips with barely a thought. His attention was instead focused on a particularly large moth flirting with the nearest lamp, bumping into the wire mesh, trying desperately to touch. He could relate, he thought. There were so many things he wanted, but he still felt like an outsider. There was something blocking his way, his own wire mesh to dig past. Probably. “Life is like a lamp, right?”

Aziraphale shifted on the bench, clearly disgruntled. “Crowley you have barely been coherent for the past hour. And don’t think I haven’t noticed the bouncing legs or you nodding off in the middle of sentences all week. What has gotten into you?”

Crowley sighed, rubbing long fingers into both eyes this time. “I'm just tired.”

“Crowley, you need to get some sleep.” The angel’s voice bore no room for argument, but Crowley had always excelled at being contrary.

“‘M a demon. Demons don’t need sleep, angel. I’ll be fine.”

“Perhaps demons in general don’t need sleep, but you’ve gotten in the habit. When was the last time you got a good night’s rest, my dear?”

Crowley opened his mouth to speak but found no answer on his tongue. Closing his mouth again, he considered the question, picking over his recent memory as carefully as possible. It wasn’t very easy in his hazy state. He frowned. “Don’t really remember.” He admitted at length.

Aziraphale sighed. “Was it this month, at least?” He prodded.

Crowley shook his head. “Much longer, I think.”

“Last month then?” Another head shake. “Three months? Ten?”

“I think it was just before…” Crowley hesitated, suddenly remembering the awful day in question. The guilt returned like a punch to the gut, pushing the air from his lungs in a miserable sigh; he grimaced. “Just before I handed Adam over to the nuns.”

“Nearly twelve years,” Aziraphale’s voice broke on the last word, and he flinched at the weight of it. “Why so long?”

“Dunno. Lots of reasons. Just one thing after another, you know. Antichrist, being a nanny, gotta save the world, facing down the Horsepeople, literally getting fired.

“It takes a toll eventually.” A sickening -zzt- sound draws his attention back to the lamp just in time to see the moth he had been watching flutter to the ground. Somehow it had gotten through the mesh, maybe through a hole he couldn’t see from this angle. “Doesn’t bode well for that metaphor.”

“What metaphor? No, nevermind. Crowley, have you slept at all since the- since the trials?”

“A few times, I think. Hasn’t really helped much.”

A soft hand landed unexpectedly on Crowley’s knee and he jumped. Aziraphale looked chagrined and took his hand back, just for a moment. He made eye contact this time, and moved slowly before restoring the touch. “You need rest.”

Crowley shifts uncomfortably in the chair he’d dragged onto the porch just weeks ago. “I can’t do it.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I get nervous, and jumpy. I know that we’ve been left alone so far but someday that’s gonna change.” Crowley tugged at his hair and growled. “Someday, Heaven and Hell are gonna decide they can’t have us mucking about any longer and finally come to clean up this mess. Someday, some demon or angel or who knows what is gonna decide we’d make excellent trophies and come after us. Fame, glory, convenience of paperwork, who knows? We may never see it coming.” A broken sob rattled through the air. “I don’t need to breathe, and I still can’t get enough air into my lungs. I don’t need to eat but nothing satisfies me. I don’t need to sleep but I can’t fucking do it.”

Aziraphale softly drags his thumb across Crowley’s knee in a short arc, and Crowley’s entire body collapses into his chair. “Angel, I can’t sleep.”

“Come inside.” At some point, the teacup and saucer Crowley clearly remembers seeing just minutes ago had disappeared. The angel removes his hand just long enough to push himself off the bench, and then extends it again to help Crowley up.

Crowley takes it, he’s too tired to do anything but follow Aziraphale’s lead. He looks idly back at the porch and smiles halfheartedly before the door frame blocks his view.

The little nest they’d made out here clashed enthusiastically; built out of mismatched furniture, and the lamps desperately needed upgrading. There was a thick scratchy rug held steady under the feet of the bench, its pattern bright and whimsical; and a branch with plastic pastel eggs hanging from various twigs (a leftover from Easter, The Them had spent a whole afternoon on it). The dahlias near the porch were coming in nicely, their blooms large and colorful, not a spot in sight but they did need to be taught a thing or two about posture. Softly fragrant locks of sweet pea were tucked around a trellis, offering a bit of shade and privacy from the front. It was ugly. It was wonderful. It was theirs.

Aziraphale led him into their home, locking the door with a thought. They made their way lazily past pictures and paintings, statues and vases, books and plants. Odds and ends gathered over centuries, millennia. The clutter of two not-quite-lives made one.

They made it to Crowley’s bedroom, Crowley closed the door behind them to keep out any light, and wordlessly they removed shoes and ties, waistcoats and sunglasses. After changing into pajamas they crawled under the covers, and Aziraphale immediately reached out to pull Crowley to him.

The sounds of insects, whispering plants and water nearby was muffled through the walls but could still be heard. Combined with the warmth of the angel and the softness of the sheets, the gentle huff of another’s breath; the busy stillness was soothing.

Crowley snuffled quietly, nuzzled his nose into the soft fabric of Aziraphale’s nightshirt. “Will you sleep too?”

A kiss was pressed to the crown of Crowley’s head. “No. I may read for a bit, or play with your hair. But I have no intention of sleeping.”

“Are you keeping watch for me, angel?”

“Would it help if I were?”

“... Yeah, I think it would.”

Another kiss, and an affectionate hum, and it was back to silence.

Crowley ached, his muscles sore and his eyes prickled. He could feel sleep coming, gently lapping at his mind like water on the beach.

He closed his eyes and imagined himself standing in the sand, the waves washing over his feet. He tried to remember the exact sensation when you were just far enough in, stood still enough, You could feel the sand building over your toes, your instep, eventually your ankles. You could feel the ocean tugging at you, coaxing you further out. Millimeter by millimeter, patient and unrelenting. If you gave it enough time, it would eventually have you.

It was a strangely comforting thought to fall asleep to.


End file.
